


Locke Lamora and the Tale of the Moray Eel

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Gen, pre-Lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-09
Updated: 2009-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locke has had a bit of a ... run-in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locke Lamora and the Tale of the Moray Eel

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://saaski-moql.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**saaski_moql**](http://saaski-moql.dreamwidth.org/). for a ficbit request meme. This is pretty much precisely what she asked for.

Locke Lamora doesn't know how one can properly attend to gaping wounds whilst laughing like a hyena, but Jean Tannen seems to be doing a very good job at just that. Supposedly, it helps having three more sets of watchful, _fucking laughing_ , eyeballs.

"Yes, I'm sure it's all very funny, but _Crooked Warden,_ it fucking _hurts._ "

"Oh, dear," Calo manages between giggles.

"What was it we used to say?" Galdo asks around chuckles.

"The only one who gets away with Locke Lamora games..."

"... is Locke, but because we think..."

"... the gods are saving him for some special, horrible death."

"This was almost it, right?" Bug asks from his post by the door to the Bastards's dining area beneath the House of Perelandro. "That was almost a special, horrible death?"

"You could say that," Jean sputters, and with Locke's wound finally clean, admires his handiwork. "But I think, I think it was more of a _ridiculous_ death."

Locke sits up, against Calo and Galdo's will, and glances down at the mess of his left calf. "You can all fucking choke on apple cores. And you call that clean?!" Truthfully, the torn skin and bloody flesh almost makes him vomit -- never mind the pain that pulsates from the wound. "Who poured godsdamned Ginger Scald on my _leg?_ "

"It looks worse than it is," Jean dismisses, using one large hand to shove Locke back down on the witchwood table. "The physicker gave me an excellent poultice. It'll heal right up!"

"I _hate poultice_ \--" Locke growls, but doesn't get to finish with a proper cuss-word. Jean is too quick on the draw, smearing the Thirteenth-knows-what onto his torn-up leg. _"MOTHERF--"_ the rest is unintelligible -- even to Locke.

To their credit, the rest of his band are kind enough to cease laughing at him while he screams a steady stream of agonized curses. When the stinging pain dulls to more subtle pangs, Locke collapses onto the table. Only once he goes limp does he realize how much strenuous writhing he must have been doing; he's panting -- but not vomiting! So he considers the episode, overall, a victory.

"Wow, _garrista_ ," Calo muses, breaking the tense silence, "but you are a big baby." A light jab, intended to lighten the situation.

Locke volleys back with, "I order you to dance on hot coals for my amusement."

"No way," Calo laughs. "But I can get you some bloody hard liquor?"

"Oh, brother," Locke sighs happily, "you always know just what I need."

Calo snorts, but heads to one of the cupboards in search for just the right kind of fire. In the meantime, the poultice is starting to feel cool and Jean is wrapping his calf. Galdo pats him on the shoulder.

"Once we get you good and drunk, you'll forget that you did something so stupid -- and that we spent an entire evening laughing at your expense."

"I like the drunk part," Locke replies, closing his eyes. "The drunk part sounded fabulous."

"What even happened?" Bug wants to know. "You guys never even explained it to me."

Jean snorts, barely containing more laughter. "Oh, Bug, trust me: this is a tale for tomorrow, or three days from now -- for whenever the great Thorn of Camorr is fit to sit at a dinner table dedicated to the mockery of his episode with a giant eel."

"it _was_ gigantic!" Locke protests. "Near half as tall as I am! With teeth to match!"

"Of course it was," Calo snickers, returning with a flask. With help from the twins, Locke is able to sit up and down the brandy like it's water.

"You should know, Jean," Locke says when he comes up for air, "the Wicked Sisters killed the fucking thing."

"Not so big once it's cut in half," Jean says.

"I really can't know now?" Bug whines, and when Locke glances at their youngest member, he sees anxiousness and eagerness -- and _fucking amusement_ \-- in the lad's eyes.

"No," Jean denies, taking the empty flask away from Locke despite his insistence that he was _not finished_ , "patience, Bug. Patience. A tale this great deserves fine wine and a good meal. And an audience that is less sour over the whole affair."

"I'm not _sour_ ," Locke spits. "Give me back my fucking brandy, you glass-eyed ogre."

Jean swats his questing hand away. "Maybe tomorrow," he tells Bug, effectively ignoring Locke.

"The Thorn of Camorr and the Tale of the Moray Eel," Galdo laughs.

"A story of legend," Calo snickers.

"I'm going to strangle you all in your _sleep_ ," Locke threatens.

 

~end


End file.
